


I can’t abandon the person I used to be (so I carry him)

by ulittuq



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Post-Canon, Referenced Child Abuse, Stream of Consciousness, i wrote this at two am on my phone just take it, iroh is not perfect, so is azulon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:01:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22013797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ulittuq/pseuds/ulittuq
Summary: “She’s crazy and she needs to go down,” his uncle had said, but standing at her cell, all Zuko can think is—That’s my little sister.
Relationships: Azula & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 581





	I can’t abandon the person I used to be (so I carry him)

**Author's Note:**

> i haven’t consumed canon atla content in years but it’s two am and i got hit with azula feels bc she’s a kid y’all and then it morphed into zuko feels and then zuko and azula sibling feels and it ended up as this pls take it

“She’s crazy and she needs to go down,” his uncle had said, but standing at her cell, all Zuko can think is—

_That’s my little sister._

She had always seemed so confident, even when they were young, when she still called him _Zuzu_ and meant it kindly. She raised her eyebrows and flipped her hair and stood with her hands on her hips and Zuko had thought her untouchable. He had loved her for it right up until she said  _I was born lucky, you were lucky to be born. _

At thirteen, Zuko had been cast aside and itturned him angry, turned him bitter. It had been a slow thing, his hope holding out because surely any day now his father would let him come home. But then he was fifteen and it’d been years since he stepped foot into Fire Country land and something in him—something that had been slowly bending since the disappearance of his mother—shattered.

When he had tried to go back to the gentle boy he was before, he found it impossible. He chased after it with the same determination he chased after the avatar, but every time it seemed within his grasp his scar pulled taut and he became angry again. 

He thinks he will always be angry. In some deep, bitter part of him, he will always be fifteen and just fully realizing the cruelty the world is capable of—the cruelty his own father is capable of. 

He will never forgive his father for deciding that those soldiers’ lives were worth less than a war, for deciding that pain was a lesson to teach his son. He will never forgive his grandfather for demanding that grief be a lesson both his sons learn. 

Maybe, he will never forgive his uncle for fighting a war until the concept of loss of grief became personal. For, years later, looking at Azula and deciding that her death was a necessity. 

And, oh, that’s what his fear is now. That even after all he has done to relearn gentleness, he will always be fifteen and angry. That maybe, years from now, he will look at a child and decide that pain and death are a lesson they need to learn. 

Because she is a child. Azula is fifteen. Her composure had always been an impenetrable barrier, but now he wonders if he just didn’t look hard enough to see the cracks. That as soon as she spat _—_ _you were lucky to be born_ he stopped seeing  _sister_ and started seeing  _enemy_.  And maybe, when he was fifteen, that was—not fine, but understandable, because he was a child before he was an older brother. But now he is the Fire Lord and  _older brother_ seems a heavier title to bear. 

Because, god—she looks so young. He wonder if he looked like that, when he begged his father for mercy and the bitter, angry part of him surges. How could any adult look at someone so young and think  _ this is someone okay to hurt—this is someone okay to kill. _

Zuko let’s the anger burn through him. Let’s it burn down to coals in the corners of his heart and steps into Azula’s line of sight. 

Her shoulders twitch and her face twists into a sneer and maybe it’s the clinking of the manacles around her wrists or maybe it’s the uneven cut of her hair or maybe it’s that he’s no longer fifteen, but it seems hollow. 

“Zuzu,” she spits, “come to gloat?”

Zuko doesn’t know why he came. No—that’s a lie. He came because he remembered his little sister. He remembered her tiny fingernails and soft, downy hair when she was born. He remembered how she would run to him, her hair sticky with sweat and burns on her fingers, and say  _look, look, Zuzu— _and run through her katas with fire dancing on her fingers. 

He knows she’ll never go back to that little, prideful girl who was determined before she was cruel. Knows with the the bright coals of anger that burn in his chest and the tight pull of his scar. 

He was fifteen, once, and angry and bitter. He relearned gentleness. Learned how to let his anger burn down instead of out. 

Azula is fifteen, now, and cruel and violent and trying so, so hard to pretend she is untouchable. 

She is fifteen and his little sister. Maybe that isn’t enough to forgive her—not yet, at least—but it’s enough to soften his face into a smile. The motion of it pulls at his scar and it’s an easy thing to let the anger spark off into nothing. 


End file.
